Is the tree, itself, to blame
On a roof which falls
Through what of a noisy gust
A bad mood recalls?
Secure we are, in ourselves.
Of value, virtue.
Till, as violent on our heads
Will, in word-storms, crash.
O'ershadowed of but lately:
That cool, calm worldview.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem